This Burden I Bear
by DreamerChick
Summary: A look at what being "the one of us to survive" does to Mark and what paths it leads him down after watching his friends die COMPLETE April 10 2009
1. All the Time He WON'T have them

A/N: Um...should be studying. Am not. Doing this instead. Adam K! Mark and Will!Roger . Collins is actually still Jesse!Collins.

Don't own 'em...just borrowing.

Warnings: Um...so this is the first time an ending I wrote really depressed_ me_. I have a strong constitution when it comes to sad. But yeah, so you might need a tissue or something. You have been warned

XXX

"How the hell did we end up back here so soon?" Mark asked no one in particular, staring at the bathroom mirror of the church. Dark brown eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, and tears that were shed when no one was looking stared back at him. First Angel, now Mimi. His own words not quiet three months ago echoed back at him. _Perhaps it's because I'm the one of us to survive_, he'd angrily thrown at Roger who'd called him out for his policy of detachment. Roger had spat back _Poor Baby!_. And while most of the time, Mark felt selfish when his thoughts crept back to that sentiment, sometimes the burden was enough to bring him close to breaking. Hell, when AIDS claimed the last of his friends- probably Roger because that just was how fate worked- it would crack him. He was certain. He sighed and rubbed his chin, feeling the three-no four- day stubble. Now wasn't the time to think of himself. Today he was here to honor Mimi's life and be there for his friends, but especially for Roger.

He took a breath, splashed water on his face, and readjusted his scarf. Not a completely inappropriate item of clothing. The church had no more heat then half the buildings on the block. Another steadying breath and he opened the door.

Roger was sitting in the vestibule on a bench, chewing on his bottom lip. "Ready?" He asked. His voice was steady but his turquoise eyes shone. His left hand held his right, and Mark knew it was to cover up his knuckles. APRIL. All thoughts Mark had about himself were washed away by this knowledge. Roger was burying a second love. Granted, he hardly was coherent for April's funeral...he made it through 10 minutes before Collins had to carry him out. Grief and drugs don't mix well.

"Only if you are." Mark said, quietly. He felt he'd misspoken, so he rambled on for a minute. " I mean, not that anyone ever is really ready..."

"Mark..it's okay. I _am_ ready." He flashed a quick 'Roger Davis- I'm so cool I'm frozen' smile to reassure his friend, that lasted only a fraction of a second before falling. He stood up and hugged the shorter man quickly before they entered the church.

Benny, Collins, Joanne and Maureen were already there, as were members of Life Support and a dancer or two from the Cat-Scratch club. There was also a woman up front that Mark assumed was Ms. Marquez. Maureen ran up to Roger and hugged him tightly. Joanne's gaze met Mark's and she just raised an eyebrow, in a way that Mark understood as an apology for Maureen's lack of basic funeral decorum. He shook his head and flashed Joanne a quick sideways smile. Maureen had done the same thing to a less than receptive Roger at April's funeral. Though this time, Roger did hug the diva back.

As he slid into the pew next to Joanne, with Roger on the other side, Mark noted how much less tension there was now then at Angel's funeral. Thank God- or who/whatever- for small blessings.

The preacher spoke a few words, something about life/death, how life can leave in an instant...typical bullshit. Rest in Peace and etc. Then he opened it up for others to come forward. Collins stepped forward first, as Roger's composure had broken and he sat with head in hands.

"Mimi may have been tiny, but as Angel used to say, she was Tiger-fierce. And that girl had some claws. Hell, she got my boy there, Roger, out of the loft after a half a year of withdrawal where he wouldn't leave the house. Neither myself nor Mark could do it. But Mimi and her candle and pleas to "take her out tonight" got him out in one night." Here, Collins looked out at the crowd. "One magical night." He said, half to himself. "She was no saint, she had her vices. But she worked to give them up, though she fell now and again, as we all do. And from what I'm told, the girl could defend herself." Collins met Benny's gaze, remembering the New Years breaking-back-into the building party. "And she was my Angels best friend. She was,_is_, a key member of our little hodge-podge bohemian family. And she will be missed."

Ms. Marquez stood as Collins took his seat. "Mimi left home at 17. As unglamorous as the East Village can be, it looks like heaven to a wide eyed girl from Spanish Harlem. Or so she told me her first week there. She was always so sweet to me, always calling, helping me when her father died. I still remember the call when she told me she was HIV positive. I cried more than she did. Any mother would. The last time I talked to her was Christmas day. She called to wish me Feiliz Navidad, and told me a little of her ordeal. I'm sure that she only told me what she thought I could handle. She told me she'd talk to me the next week, on New Years Eve. I never spoke to her again. I got a call from Roger December 30th. I didn't cry as much as I probably should have but I was in shock. To believe I only had my Mimi for 20 years. I cherished all of them, I just wish I had more of them." She spoke quickly, this was obviously hard for her. Granted, no parent burying a child would have an easy time giving a eulogy. She sat down and began to pray softly in Spanish.

Roger stood. He was a little shaky but determined to do right by his love. He carried only a small candle and a match.

"Mimi came into my life one Christmas Eve with a simple request. Light her candle. I did,- about four times." He gave a half laugh and let the candle, which he lay on top of the closed casket. "We had...ups and downs doesn't even begin to describe it. They were Mt Everest highs and lows below sea level. But, as Collins said, she got me out. At first her brown eyes and 'No day but today' attitude aggravated me. Down right pissed me off. But they got to me,none the less. I was only trying to protect her. I didn't know she was HIV positive as well and I wasn't going to risk her getting hurt by me. I was convinced I was disaster. She pushed me through that, and even though, like I said before we had many low points in the span of a year, she was my love. I left in a huff on Halloween, returned just before Thanksgiving to find Mimi missing. We looked and looked. Thank God for Maureen and Joanne. If they hadn't gone to the park Christmas Eve, Mimi would have died alone there. She died too soon, no doubt, but with family and friends about her. She was and remains my true love." Roger had held up remarkably well until then. His voice failed him completely. He had planned to sing "Your Eyes" but all he could force out was a mournful "Goodbye, love." As he blew out the candle, a fresh wave of grief hit him and he began to sob. Mark ducked out of the pew and helped his friend back to the vestibule.

Roger's sobs echoed in the empty hallway. Mark didn't know what to say or do to comfort his friend. All he knew was that it hurt him to see Roger hurting like that.

"Rog...you wanna get out of here, go back to the loft?"

"I..no..maybe. I dunno." Roger got out. He sniffed and buried his head into his hands again. There was a moment or two while Roger's sobs began to subside. When he finally spoke up again, his voice was hoarse but he rambled on anyway.

"I was fine. I mean, not fine, but I could've gotten through that better. But Ms. Marquez. I miss Mimi so bad I can't fucking breathe sometimes and I only knew Mimi for a year. A fucking year. Her mother knew her for 20. And she was...ridiculously composed. And it wasn't like she didn't love Mimi it was just like she realized that crying wouldn't bring her daughter back. And then...it's really fucking selfish of me, but I started thinking, I need to call my mother. Would she even show at my funeral? Will she even miss me? I've not kept in contact with her since I got back to New York from Santa Fe. Why should she miss me? I mean...and I know you hate when I do this...but I'm not going to see 30 most likely. Hell...I'm 23 now..maybe I'll make 25? I've got between 2 and 7 years most likely. I have to rebuild so much time. I didn't speak to her when I was with April. I remember talking to her once after April died..I know I told her I was HIV positive and then just hung up. Then it was a postcard in Santa Fe and two once I got back to New York. That's it. Yeah..I need to get out of here. I need to make a phone call."

"You want me to come with you?" Mark looked up at his friend.

"Nah. Go back in there and give Ms. Marquez my condolences. I can walk three blocks, I promise." He flashed a watery smile. Mark hugged him once more and went back in.

Roger ran the three blocks. January in New York was a bitch. Plain and simple. He ran up the stairs to the loft and nearly dived on the phone. He dialed a number he hadn't dialed since April had been found in the tub.

"Hi,Mom? It's Roger...I just wanted to check in, let you know I'm alive..." He began. When Mark arrived an hour later, his roommate was still on the phone with his mother. It almost made him feel guilty. But, then he realized, he had all the time in the world to contact his mother. And that thought hit him like a ton of bricks and he leaned against the counter and cried for all the time his friends didn't have and all the time he wouldn't have them.


	2. Sanity is overrated, right?

A/N: Well...was supposed to be a oneshot. Is now gonna be 4 or 5 chapters.

Mucho character death and Mark's eventual break. I'm convinced that mental/emotional burdens cause as much if not more damage than physical burdens. And really, what's worse? To die very young (20s-30s) but to have lived the last few years of your life with family or to live to 80-90 but to have spent the last 60-70 years alone? I actually think the latter. I'm 22 now but if I found out I'd likely die at 25 or even 30, at least I know that I have had as full of a life as I could have and have friends and loved ones. But to make it to 100 and to have watched all my friends either move away or die? No thanks. Anyway...I'm done rambling. Feel free to add your two cents in a review (hint hint) I really AM curious where people stand on this issue.

Same Cast...um...for Mo, Jo and Benny...it doesn't matter who you picture. I saw Tracie!Joanne and Eden!Maureen.. Benny was a combination of Rodney & Taye but it really doesn't matter.

Anyway...still just borrowing.

Maybe a year-ish after the last chapter.

Here goes

XXX

He hardly looked like the Thomas B. Collins they had known for years. Always a big presence, to see Collins so small in the hospital bed made Mark stop dead in his tracks. A chill shot through his body. He shook it off and taking a deep breath he crossed the threshold. Roger was right behind him. How the rocker was calmer than Mark was a mystery. After all, Mark wasn't facing what would essentially be him, yet he could barely speak and hovered near a chair, feeling his legs would give out any moment.

"How you holding up?" Roger was the first to speak. It seemed a dumb question but at least it broke the silence.

"Rog, man, do you ever think before you speak?" Collins was at least still his own self mentally. As Roger struggled to think of an answer Collins gave a laugh. "I'm just playin' around boy. It's the first question anybody asks. And, truth be told..." Collins' voice softened and his eyes got misty. " I'm good. Not physically, but I'm..ready to see my girl again."

Mark gulped and said a prayer of thanks for his decision to stay near a chair. When death had been a vague threat hovering over them it had been easy to celebrate "Living with...not dying from disease."

Now it was like 'dying from' had taken over.

"Mark, you okay ,little man?" Collins asked. "You're green."

That snapped Mark back to carrying on as if nothing was wrong. Not now, not ever. "Fine."

A lie, and but a lie Mark told so well, even ever observant Collins didn't notice.

Another moment or two of silence passed, and then Collins spoke up.

"Mark, did you bring your camera?"

Mark nodded and gestured to the bag on the floor. It never was far from his side.

"Good. I need you to record something for me. I don't trust a lawyer- nor do I have money for one- and I want to make sure my things- limited though they are- go to a good home after I'm gone."

There was stunned silence and then Mark dug his camera out. There was no trying to convince Collins of his longevity. He was going and it would be painfully soon. Mark wound his camera up as Roger helped Collins sit up.

Biting his lip to check any emotions that might slip out, the filmmaker detached himself from the reality of what was going on as Collins began to record his will. Roger stepped out of the room, leaving Mark no safety net.

"I, Thomas B. Collins, being of sound mind and body hereby bequeath...you know, this fancy language has got to go. I'm dying and I'm leaving all my stuff to you punks. There's not many of you, and that's good, 'cause I ain't got much stuff.

To Mark Cohen- I leave: the drumsticks Angel left me. You'll do right by them, I know. Also, all my photo albums- your the visual man. Hell, you probably snapped half of the ones in there. Also, whatever VHS tapes I posses. _Most_ of them are clean...some unlabeled ones...well, just don't start watching anything with any body around unless you are 100% sure it's not porn.

To Roger Davis I leave- my records, tapes and what have you. And the record player I wouldn't let you touch when I was living. I know tapes and even CDs have taken over but you're a musician, you understand the power of vinyl. I also leave you this final thought : Lennon was and will forever be _so_ much cooler than Elvis.

To Maureen Johnson I leave my clothing, especially the leather jacket my Angel bought me. You can do what you want with the rest but the jacket needs to stay in your possession until the end of time. Except my few pieces of traditional African wear. I'm not sure what I have left in my suit cases but that is to go elsewhere. No offense, girl, but I don't want them to end up torn up and used in some protest...which I've probably cursed into existence.

To Joanne Jefferson , my books. I'm sure something in there will be of use or at least amusing. Also my notebooks and personal writings. As with the tapes...90% clean but I tried my hand at erotica and some of the stuff I wrote when I was stoned off my ass is _really_ dirty.

To Benjamin Coffin the Third , I leave my traditional wear. It's in a suit case , a different one than my normal wear. I don't expect you to wear it. Oh, and my bull-horn I used when I was in my 'running naked through public spaces and screaming nonsense' phase. You can yell at bums to move from your SUVs so much easier now.

My remaining possessions are to be sold. 25% of the money you can rake in you split up among yourselves , the other 75% is to be donated in equal amounts to Life Support, and then any AIDS charities. **Always **ACT UP! FIGHT AIDS!" Collins was interrupted by a coughing fit and Mark moved to stop filming. That didn't need to be on tape.

"Maybe we should continue tomorrow." Mark said, pouring the philosopher a glass of water that was ignored after a sip or two.

"Mark...there's likely not to be a 'tomorrow'." Collins whisper was pained. "The doctors talk...when they think I can't hear them or I'm supposed to be sleeping. This will _has_ to be done. NOW."

Mark swallowed and nodded. Collins took a deep breath and Mark detached again and continued filming.

"Now that all the shit I had has been divided, I have to- no- want to, just speak a piece here on how much I valued this life I shared with all of you. We never had much money...well, except Benny but that's proved to be useful...but we shared love. And as the great John Lennon wrote "All you need is love." That's about all we _had_ ninety percent of the time but we survived somehow. This family doesn't have to die, and it won't even as members of it do. Another wise man, Mark Cohen, once said, "Friendship is thicker than blood." Ain't it the truth. I can safely say I've not talked to blood relatives in ten years or more even. But you crazy people that are watching this video where there for me. Through all the various and, to be honest, too few ups, and the most painful of lows. From my coming out, to being kicked out and through testing positive, Roger, Mark and Maureen, you were all there. Though you were just in the 8th grade when I graduated high school, you three were my first best friends. My first surrogate family. Benny, Benny, Benny. You came in just about the time I was arrested for my little Parthenon stunt. But, for a while at least, we had each others' backs. You got me my first job at ...some Community College in the SUNY system...Nassau Community I think. I lasted a little while there. That lead to M.I.T but you were long moved out. Joanne, you were the last to come into our little family, but you and I always had fantastic discussions about gender issues and civil rights for the GLBT community. You've got a good head on your shoulders. Use it well, and don't be afraid of doing something improper to make a point. Anyway, just know that I love all you punk kids , and from where ever I end up, I'll be watching out for all of you guys. And hopefully, drinking the finest Vodka and smoking a weed so potent it hasn't even hit Amsterdam yet." Collins laughed and blew a kiss to the camera, then motioned for Mark to stop filming.

The younger man did as was asked then excused himself to find Roger. Not hard to do, he was sitting, eyes wide with terror and shaking by the door.

"He's finished his will. I think we should..." Mark didn't have to finish his sentence. He couldn't anyway. He was too numb and a little pissed at Roger for bailing on him to really think.

Roger nodded. Mark gave them a few minutes alone. He dug in his pockets and found a quarter or two . He spied a pay phone and went to call Maureen and Joanne.

"Hello?" Maureen's voice was a little flustered and Mark knew what he had interrupted.

"Mo, it's Mark. You might wanna get down here to the hospital. Collins...he's not doing too well. He doesn't think...oh, Maureen..." Mark couldn't help the way his voice broke. He steadied himself as Maureen gasped out an "Oh...God." There was silence then Maureen said "We'll be down there as soon as we can."

"Thanks. Rog and I'll be here. He's...in there right now."

"Oh, Marky." Maureen said, her voice breaking. Mark hung up, and then dial Benny's number.

"This is Benjamin." He answered business like.

"Benny...it's Mark. Collins...he's...this is it, I think"

"Right. I'll be down there....Janet, cancel my meetings and hold my calls." Benny was heard calling as Mark hung up.

Roger emerged not ten minutes later, his face streaked with tears.

"You going in again?" He asked.

"I'll let Mo and Jo and Benny say their piece first. I had to film the fucking _will _ of our best friend. I need sometime to regroup."

"Right. Mark..I'm sorry I left you alone in there. I just...that's _me_ in a year or two. I couldn't."

"It's fine. Just...It's fine." Mark wanted to be mad at Roger but he couldn't.

The pair sat in silence until Benny showed up with Maureen and Joanne right behind.

Maureen ran and enveloped first Mark, then Roger in huge hugs.

"So...who goes first?" Joanne asked. It sounded insensitive but they knew what she meant.

"You go, Maureen. Then Benny, Then Joanne. Then I'll go. I filmed his will...I can't go back in right now." Mark got out. His voice was drained of emotion by that point.

The group made small talk as Maureen said her goodbyes to the 'vagabond anarchist'. Occasionally peels of laughter could be heard.

She came back out about ten minutes later and ran straight to Joanne. "Honeybear...that was the hardest thing I've had to do since Angel died. Harder." She sobbed as her lawyer held her.

Mark just watched, wishing he had his camera shield.

Benny stood up, only pausing momentarily to take a deep breath. He entered with a purpose.

He exited ten minutes later with his sunglasses shielding his eyes. He nodded to Mark and Roger, and sat down in a seat nearby.

Knowing that Benny was upset made Mark nearly desperate. He wanted...no _needed_ his crutch of detachment. This burden of being the one to survive was really beginning to wear on him.

Joanne let Maureen free and went in. She had to grab the doorway for support before entering. She was new to the family but had gotten to know and love Collins as much as the rest of them.

She didn't last ten minutes.

"He's really...he's just hanging on by a thread. We should have done this yesterday."

"There is no past." Mark murmured. He walked in.

The room was already beginning to smell like death. It hovered over the two men. It was hard to believe that not an hour ago Collins had been coherent enough to give his possessions away.

"Hey, again." Mark managed.

"Hey."

" I don't..." Mark started.

"I don't either. I love you man. I know this can't be easy...hopefully when this whole crazy ride comes to stop for you, there will be some prize for having dealt the crappiest card in the whole game..." Collins said.

Mark snorted a little then there was silence. It dragged on for about three minutes. Then Mark dashed to the bed, whispered "I love you too." as he hugged the philosopher, then grabbed his camera and bolted from the room.

The call came at 3:30 the following afternoon. Plans were made, bills were paid, possessions were divided and sold. The whole thing netted Mark $25 and cost him one more chunk of his sanity. But hey, sanity is over-rated, right?

XXX

A/N: I've got 2 maybe 3 more chapters in mind but I can't promise how quickly they'll come up. School is going to eat me alive after Spring Break.


	3. KS Lesions Silence equals Death

A/N:

This is Mark and Roger FRIENDSHIP , just I see their friendship as ridiculously deep. I think Roger's death would be the most devastating for Mark and believe you me, this has been hell to write. So ,you are warned: TISSUES ARE REQUIRED

I apologize now for what I'm doing to poor Mark. There is a light at the end of the tunnel, I think. But, he has to suffer a little bit more. And trust me, these three chapters are NOTHING compared to what I've planned in the next chapter or so. I was gonna do 4 chapters and an epilogue. Now It's gonna be 5 and an epilogue because what I'm doing to Mark will take two chapters to really work.

Oh, and I'm starting to think that I might be borrowing some stuff from Anthony Rapp's book "Without You" especially about needing to be there when some one close dies. It's unconscious, and I don't remember exact phrases (and my book is somewhere in box right now) but if it strikes you as something from the book, I apologize in advance.

Anyway, don't own.

XXX

Mark didn't know what he hated more; the silence of Roger sleeping , or the hacking coughs when he was awake. The coughs were Mark's sure sign that Roger was still alive, but they also were a reminder that Roger was in pain. And would have to remain in pain because he was too stubborn to go the hospital.

He still remembered that argument as if it were yesterday, when in fact it had been two years ago.

_They've just finished burying Collins. They are celebrating his life as they do best: drinks and partying at the Life Cafe. It's going on midnight when Maureen stumbles out the door, Joanne helping her along. Benny had been gone for a while and people are leaving. The less than thrilled host is glaring at the remaining patrons: A slightly tipsy artist in the back corner who is trying very hard to 'woo' the pretty young model seated across from him. A considerably drunk older gentleman is hitting on the only server. And the boho-boys, who are in a heated discussion._

"_I don't wanna go like that." Roger muses. He's had a few but is still relatively with it._

"_What'd ya mean 'like that'" Mark hasn't had any since his first one. He's been too busy filming and reminiscing about Collins to order another. _

"_In a hospital. Those tubes and such." Roger shudders._

"_Those 'tubes and such' made it so he went much more peacefully. He'd have been in massive amounts of pain if it weren't for such modern devices." _

"_Who the fuck cares?Collins didn't want that either. In fact, if he hadn't collapsed in front of 25 students over there in Long Island, he wouldn't have been carted off in an ambulance. And he wouldn't have been shipped back to the shitty little AIDS ward of an even shittier little hospital." Roger slurs out. Normally, Mark would automatically discredit anything Roger said once he gets to the slurring stage but just because it's garbled doesn't make it any less a valid point. "Promise me, something, Mark." _

"_Whatever you want, man." Mark is distracted by the host getting all up in the face of the older man who has gone one step too far with his waitress flirtations._

"_Don't let me die in a hospital. I wanna fucking die in the loft. With you and Maureen and Joanne and even fucking Benny there. "_

_Mark drops the water glass he's been holding and it shatters. This distracts the host and Mark throws the $25 dollars he has on the table and drags Roger out. _

_When they are back in the loft, Roger turns to Mark again._

"_Promise me, Mark. Promise me I won't die in an unfeeling hospital room."_

"_I...Rog..." _

_Roger's eyes meet Marks and Mark knows he can't deny Roger this. _

"_I promise." _

And so, Mark was forced to sit up at night and listen to the hacks and shudders that came from the rock-star's room. Roger had gotten considerably stubborn that past week. Every time Mark so much as knocked on the door, he was greeted with a 'fuck off and let me die'. Even though Roger had been growing weaker, Mark was still a little scared of his friend. Roger had a tendency to find the strength to protest anything even at his weakest. But, Mark inhaled. It had been nearly a week since Roger had even stepped out to eat. Mark kept refilling a plastic pitcher of water whenever Roger fell into a restless sleep.

But after a week, Roger needed a shower. A bath. Anything. It was all Mark really could do to make sure his friend was truly comfortable. 'Comfortable'. The word shot shivers through Mark's small body. "Making them comfortable" was something hospices and the like offered. He took a deep breath then pushed open the door with his hips. The lock had been broken for years now and just at that moment, Mark was particularly grateful for said fact.

"Get out of here." Roger growled between coughing fits.

"No. You've been hulled up in here all week. You need a bath."

"I'd think my personal hygiene would be the least of your concerns." Roger was in rare form.

"Normally, yes. But you've had a fever and have been laying in your own germs for a week. I'd think..." Mark had to rethink what he was going to say. He meant to make a point about immune systems and such but in Roger's current state of pissed-off, perhaps it would have been in Mark's best interest to not test the waters too much.

"I'll survive." Biting sarcasm was Roger's current weapon of choice.

Mark geared up his strength and had the rock-star in his arms before there could pass another moment.

Roger struggled but in his weakened state Mark overpowered him and carried him to the bathroom. It was a bit of a struggle but they made it in one piece.

That of course did not mean Roger would necessarily make things easy.

"We're in the bathroom. That doesn't mean I'm going to take a shower."

"Bath then."

"Neither. We are going to sit here in silence until you realize that you're an asshole and let me go back to my room and let me get on with my dying."

That sentence snapped a switch in Mark, and he found a strength he didn't know he had. The size of the bathroom helped as Roger didn't have much space to flee.

"No, I'm not a fucking asshole. I've kept my word." Mark started to try to wrestle Roger out of his clothes and into the tub, and the whole time he was giving the rock-star a verbal beat down as well. "You get to die here, even though I have the '_pleasure'_ of listening to how much pain you're in and I don't even get the satisfaction of helping you through this. I get locked out of the room, told to 'fuck off and let you die'. Well, I'm not listening to you for once." Mark managed to get Roger's shirt off.

That's when he saw them. Dark spots. "K.S. Lesions" Mark whispered.

Roger's eyes were full of...Mark couldn't tell what exactly. Fear, grief- for both himself and Mark, and a weird relief that Mark finally knew were all mixed together in the turquoise.

"How..when'd the first one..." Mark sat back down on the edge of the tub, still holding Roger's shirt in one hand.

"About four months ago...there are more...lower."

Mark couldn't stop the strangled cry that escaped. These were the beginning of the end. He swallowed his emotions, though they weren't going to stay down. K.S. Lesions equaled Epidemic Kaposi Sarcoma. Which in HIV positive people, like Roger (who, for all they knew could have progressed to full blown AIDS- Mark was struggling to keep food on the table and doctors visits to tell them that the bad was getting worse seemed ridiculous) especially people like Roger who couldn't always afford their AZT all the time, and hadn't in at least a month, it was the turning point. Roger would likely be gone in the inside of two months. Couple that with whatever cold Roger had developed (Mark still wondered where it had come from...he'd been so careful when he went out to wash his hands like a million times and wipe down everything with rubbing alcohol), that was likely to turn worse, and two months would be a blessing.

Roger was overcome by another coughing fit that echoed in the bathroom.

Mark couldn't stop himself and he threw his arms around his best friend. Roger reciprocated the embrace and the two sat there for what seemed like days.

XXX

Roger got his wish. Maureen, Joanne, and even Benny showed up at the loft not long after that moment in the bathroom. They kept a nearly constant vigil, Joanne and Benny working from there as much as possible, leaving reluctantly when forced to do so.

For the first month or so, it was like old times. Or as much so as it could be.

The second month, things started to crumble around the filmmaker. Roger only could spend a few hours awake at a time before he drifted off into a restless slumber. To ease the pain some, Benny provided alcohol. He could have gotten his hand on some painkillers

(when your rich and married to one of the most powerful real-estate families in Westport, things like prescriptions are easy to come by)

but Roger had been adamant: no narcotics. According to him, drugs were the reason he was dying, and no amount of reasoning could convince him that painkillers were okay in that situation. Even pot was shunned but that was because coughing hurt.

But it wasn't just Roger's imminent death that was troubling Mark. It was how the rest were handling it. Maureen would enter the loft and burst into tears. Benny sat in stony silence with his sunglasses on. Joanne...well, she at least occasionally took care of Mark by treating him to dinner and _forcing_ him to get out. But even she took to periods of melancholy.

And that left Mark to make the mood as light as was possible.

It was wearing on him, he realized, one day, sitting on the floor beside Roger who lay on the couch asleep. The few moments of sleep he gathered couldn't have totaled more than an hour or so a day. Two was even rarer. Three would be a bloody miracle. He just didn't want to miss anything Roger would need him for. Not that he didn't trust and love the others.

But, Mark had been there.

Mark had been there for April, the note (testing to prove the note was right and April had also infected him with KSHV that lead to the KS) , for the withdrawal. Benny had long since bailed, and Maureen was cheating on Mark up, down, and sideways. Mark felt...somehow, and he knew it was ridiculous and selfish, but that he was entitled to be there. To take care of Roger. To help him from this plane to the next. He didn't, however, always feel that Benny and Maureen -and by extension Joanne- deserved that chance. He was going to give it them, because his more rational side knew they were Roger's friends- well, Benny had been back in the boho-boys' good graces since just after Mimi had died- as well.

He didn't have time to muse on the various degrees of friendship much longer because Roger woke up at just that minute.

"Mark?" He called out, or rather choked out. This was his second bout with pneumonia and it was likely to be his last.

"Yeah, Rog."

"Just..."Roger's breathing was labored ; and Mark's breath caught in his throat. "I love you."

Mark sat in silence momentarily, trying to get his thoughts together. There was so much to say. He wanted to beg Roger to hold on. Joanne and Benny were out working, and Maureen (like normal, Mark thought) was nowhere to be found. He realized that asking Roger to hold on when it was obvious he was ready to let go was cruel.

"I know. I love you too." Mark drew blood biting his lip. He couldn't look Roger in the face, so instead he just gripped his hand, as Roger faded into unconsciousness again, listening to his friend's breathing become more and more labored. Though he normally sought silence, he wasn't prepared for the overpowering silence when Roger stopped breathing, that was only broken when Maureen slid open the loft door and let out a scream that could be heard clear to midtown. Mark wanted to scream too- scream, cry, go crazy- but what use was it? Roger was gone, and with him went Mark's sanity. He dropped the now stiff and quickly cooling hand of his best friend and ran out the loft. He wasn't sure he'd ever return there.

XXX

TBC- I'm evil but I honestly can hardly see,my eyes are so misty. So, I figured I'd stop there, and allow myself as well as my readers to some time to regroup. I'll try to have the following chapter up soon but I have to do some research first. And again, I state, this is almost nice compared to what I'm going for in chapters 4 and 5. Thank you all for reading this far.


	4. Nothing Is Real

A/N:

Let this be known: I don't do drugs so this is all just going off research

Any block of text (they'll be at least a paragraph-ish) that is separated and in italics is a trip. There is one "good" (happy, Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds kind of ) trip and one VERY Bad trip. Use your discretion: read both, read one, read none. The plain text is important for the narrative. For Mark to start healing I _had_ to do this chapter, not just say it happened. This IS Rock bottom for Mark, it gets better from here on out.

Oh, and I don't mean to imply all Beatles fans do acid (I'm one and I wouldn't touch LSD with a 70 foot pole) but some probably do, and my O.C.s are and do.

This chapter is dedicated to Macbeth2 – she's been a fantastic reviewer . Oh, and Yahoo answers- the best thing for research on LSD trips ever.

Don't own. Well, except Beth-Ann and Kay. Their mine. But I'm not sure anyone will want them after this.

XXX

Mark never does return to the loft after Roger dies. He lives a vagabond existence, at first crashing on Maureen and Joanne's couch. What is supposed to keep him from losing his mind ends up not working at all. Maureen keeps patronizing and babying him, Joanne becomes his unofficial warden, following him out. He his encouraged- sometimes forced- to go to Life Support. Again, what should be helping is making matters worse.

Paul makes promises: life will get better, he will move on. He will slowly but surely return to normal.

Mark nearly strangles the older black man. He gets up and leaves in a huff instead. Roger always said Mark would never last half a day in jail. Mark wanders the streets for a while, waiting for Joanne to arrive and guide him back to the 'safety' of her apartment . The fifteen minutes she takes to show up are plenty for Mark to think.

Paul's attempts at reassurance are lies. Nothing but lies. The _normal_ Mark knows- has known since he was 18 and moved in to the loft - is gone. He has to create a new normal. And, it can not have anything to do with the Alphabet-City Avant-garde. It can't have anything to do with Avenues A,B,C, or D, at all. If he had his way he'd leave New York City all together but he can't think of anywhere else to go. He can't afford Long Island, though he's heard it's quiet. But suburbia isn't his thing. Santa Fe – too many memories, even though he never went there. Plus, money is an issue. He can't leave New York at all . He wouldn't last in the Bronx. Roger once mentioned moving to Brooklyn when Benny had been in a real snit about the rent. That's it. Brooklyn. He'll find a job in Brooklyn and start over. Start the bloody fuck over.

He has his camera, scarf, and...he checks his pockets...enough money (he sold all of Roger's stuff except the guitar...he'd write for that) to get something to eat, maybe a crappy hotel for a while. And, subway fare. Joanne isn't due for another five minutes. He runs back in, to Paul's small office. The counselor is bent over paper work, his short dark dreadlocks are hung over his face. But when Mark knocks on his door frame, Paul brightens and stands.

Mark shakes his head. "No time. Paul, look. You're gonna say that I'm being irrational. And maybe I am. But I need a fresh start after all this."

"Not irrational. Lots of people that loose people close to them get fresh starts."

"I mean, right now. Joanne is coming to walk me home, and I just don't want them to worry. Let her know I'm heading to Brooklyn. I'll write or call when I get settled."

Mark is out the door before Paul can even stand up. Small and fast, he is down the block and only faintly hears the cries from the counselor. Paul starts to run after him, as does Joanne who has arrived at precisely this moment. They chase after him for blocks on foot – Paul curses himself for not driving that day but finally Paul tells a sobbing Joanne that Mark has to this for himself and she's not at fault.

Mark's small, and his camera is heavy but he keeps on 'til he gets to a subway station. He pays the fare and waits. His once rational mind is all but lost. At this point, it seems perfectly natural. He needs to start over, and he has to get out of the East Village. Brooklyn is the only other place he can consider finding a job and new roommates. And he couldn't tell Joanne or Maureen. They'd try to keep him under lock and key.

Or place him in a mental ward, which is where a small part of him feels he belongs.

XXX

He's in Brooklyn a week, staying in a Holiday Inn when he sees it. "Now hiring". It's a neat little bookshop, about a block and a half from the hotel, and Mark is drawn there.

The woman – at least Mark has to assume she's a a woman, she has a womanly form- behind the counter is short but butch. Very butch. Where Joanne still exudes some femininity, this lady is a little frightening. Spiky purple hair, piercings and tattoos don't help.

"Can I help you?" She asks.

"Um..yeah." Mark can't help but notice her nearly completely tattooed and rather muscular arms. "The now hiring sign?"

She nearly hops over the counter. "Can you read? Can you work a calculator? Can you count money?"

"Yeah...all three."

"Awesome. You are hired. I need a fucking day off."

"Um..I hate to be rude...Ms..."

"Holy shit, I'm a dip-shit. I'm Beth-Ann. Just Beth-Ann. And it pays...um...well, what do you think it should pay. I've not a had an employee in a while."

"Um..I just need to make a living wage. I'm... not from here." Not a lie, exactly. He's from practically the opposite end of the island, and it feels like a life time away.

"Oh...well...hey, do you need a place to stay? Me and my girlfriend live above here and we have a spare bedroom. Hell, how bout that? I'll pay you $100 dollars a week, and let you stay in the spare bedroom, rent free."

"Deal. Names Mark."

"Awesome. Mark, you are in charge. I'm going out, here's the key to the apartment, and one to the store. I'll let Kay know your coming up. I've got a piercing to get to." Beth-Ann speaks ridiculously fast as she throws two keys on the counter.

While she's gone, Mark gets a feel for his surroundings. It smells faintly of incense but that only partially hides the pot smell. It's obvious the few customers that come in don't mind the smell. Mark also notices the rather...psychedelic is a good word... color scheme. Something tells him that they don't just sell books and 25 cent honor coffee here. He briefly wonders why they haven't just opened a head shop, but pushes it out of his mind. Who is he to question a job _and _a free roof over his head?

He hums along with the music coming from the tape player. The Beatles. He only knows little bits and pieces of a few songs. As the afternoon wears on, he starts to listen to the lyrics more intently. He becomes enamored with "Eleanor Rigby" and rewinds it. Something in Paul McCartney's voice and the haunting string quartet really get to him. And the third time he listens to it, the lines start to sink in. "_All the lonely people, where do they all belong?" _

"Where do I belong?" Mark asks. He doesn't belong in the East Village any more and Brooklyn doesn't feel like home either. It goes without saying he's lonely. These thoughts hit him, and he begins to sob. Deep painful heartbreaking sobs. It is in this state that Beth-Ann finds him in when she gets back from her piercing after her business instincts tell her to check out how the new guy is going.

She comes around the counter and holds him tightly. "Shh....Mark...it's okay...whatever it is...it's okay."

Finally, Mark calms down enough to speak coherent sentences. "It's not okay. It's never gonna be okay again."

"Holy shit- you've really been through something." Beth – Ann doesn't exactly know what to do. She's just met this man and he's sobbing out that nothing is ever going to be okay again. She bites her lower lip, thinking she has one solution to his problem but A: he could be a cop – though if he were he'd have arrested her for sure- she reeks of pot. B: she's not sure how to bring up her solution and C:what if he thinks her a horrible person for even suggesting such a thing. She only means to offer her solution as help but some people say it'll destroy someone as messed up already as Mark obviously is.

"You have no idea how much." It briefly occurs to Mark that this is stupid to be pouring his heart out to a stranger like this but he needs the connection with someone new – someone who has never seen April's pale skin even paler in the bathtub compared to the blood around her, who has never had to eulogize a fantastically amazing drag-queen, never had to witness Roger's final goodbye to his love, film the will of a best friend, and hold the hand of a best friend while death comes to claim the last link Mark has to sanity.

Beth -Ann just sits there quietly. She decides that she will invite Mark to try a new way of expanding his horizons but not today. First, she has to get him to a better mental state another way. Or at least get him to check the baggage.

XXX

Over time, something like a month that seems an eternity to Beth-Ann, Mark spills his story. It's in pieces and never comes out at the same time, never in the same place, and rarely sober. Pot isn't the only thing in ready supply. Alcohol is nearly as common as water and where Mark should be weary of turning to substances to cope, he just _can't_ care anymore. Either he drowns his pain or it drowns him.

Finally, one night, a month and half after arriving, Beth-Ann deems him ready to take a little trip.

Mark wants to object but what comes out when offered the little tab is "What the hell."

Kay agrees to watch. She's better at talking people out of things than her partner.

"Remember, if thing get way too much, just call out to me. I can talk you down from just about anything. I can't promise it'll work right away- sometimes it takes like a half an hour. But just go with it. Where ever it takes you- go. Don't fight it. Oh, and, unless you absolutely need a sober voice, talk to Beth-Ann. She may not be seeing the same thing, but she'll be on the same level of reality as you are."

Mark just nods. He takes the little tab and lets it dissolve on his tongue. He closes his eyes and waits for the magic to happen.

XXX HAPPY TRIP STARTS HERE XXX

_The first thing that happens is he feels the floor below him turn to sand. It's warm and inviting and feels so good. Freakishly good. It doesn't even surprise him when penguins march out of the wallpaper. He takes Kay's advice and just goes with it. _

"_Marky...come and play Play-Doh with me." Beth-Ann. "It feels so good and it laughs when you poke it. Like the Pillsbury Dough-Boy." _

_The sand has turned to warm water and so Mark swims to Beth-Ann. Her hair gives off a smell- grape jelly and he feels that he should be able to taste it. He grabs at it but misses because his hand is suddenly very small. He opens the Play-Doh container and takes out the green. It too smells- not a smell Mark can define though. It just smells green. Like grass and mint and something just distinctly green. He pokes the green blob. Not only does it laugh but he can distinctly see the laugh. It hangs in the air. He does so again and again. The laughs form blocks and he begins to build with them in the water. _

"_Beth-Ann- look what I made. I made an underwater igloo. Come with me and explore." _

"_Can't right now, Marky-Boy. I'm trying to get into the container and it keeps shutting on me." _

_Mark accepts this and goes about exploring his underwater palace, until it melts. He vaguely hears the phone ringing but that's somewhere in the 'other realm'. He hears Kay saying 'He's not here right now'. He laughs. Silly Kay. Of course he's not there. He's here. Were everything is right. _

XXX NARRATIVE RESUMES HERE XXX

The magic is fantastic and Mark wonders why he didn't try this earlier. He doesn't remember much about his trip the next day. But he does know that he feels worse than his worst hangover and it confuses him. Yesterday had been so happy and beautiful. That much he remembers.

"It's simple. This reality we live in when we aren't tripping is only a surface reality. You just unlocked a whole hidden part of your brain. We only use like 10% in normal life. Now that unlocked 90% has to readjust to being silent." Beth-Ann explains as she re-shelves some books the next morning.

"Any way to get past this feeling?"

"Nope." Beth-Ann pours him yet another cup of coffee. "You just learn to live with the hangover. You'll be back to 'normal' tomorrow but today, expect to feel like shit."

He just silently accepts it, pushes his glasses back up on his nose and stirs more sugar into his coffee. He realizes he will deal with the hangover if he gets to experience that feeling again. He may not remember the details but he does know that he felt so much better than he had since … well _ever_ really but especially since he found April's body in the tub. He must have that feeling of warmth back.

His next two trips, which take place in as many months, are just as magical as the first. More so because Kay gets to join. A third person to the mix makes it so much better.

Then, despite all warnings to the contrary, Mark one day decides he should go on a journey by himself. It's about four months since his first trip, going on six months since he arrived in Brooklyn. He's been having nightmares about his fallen friends, and needs an escape. Acid is that escape.

Kay and Beth-Ann are out. Beth-Ann is minding the store, and Kay is getting a tattoo done. Mark takes his just purchased tablet and prepares himself for the magic again.

XXX SCARY BAD TRIP STARTS HEREXXX

_It starts out happy enough. The floor becomes some state between liquid and solid, the walls melt away. Only this time, they don't melt into colors or just nothingness. They melt into the freakiest things Mark has ever seen in his life. Purely terrifying creatures that are not anything Mark has ever experienced in his waking life. But one has vibrant, fire-engine-red hair, one carries a pickle tub, one is at least part feline, one wears a beanie and one has piercing blue-green eyes. They come at him and come at him, but before they reach him they each disappear in horrifying ways. The red headed one dissolves into a pool of blood that mixes in with the floor. He tries to escape but the blood grabs his ankles and starts to pull him under. The one carrying a pickle tub burst into flames, which in turn starts to engulf Mark. He tries to scream but the one with the piercing eyes starts to strangle him. To Mark's horror, even when that apparition disappears in a 'poof' of musical notes, he finds he can't breathe. The one wearing the beanie burst into flames but continues to smolder for a while. The part cat one trips him and Mark falls under the floor. He thrashes around and screams for help. None seems to be coming and he knows he is going to die. _

XXX NARRATIVE BEGINS AGAIN HERE XXX

Sick of getting the brush off every time she calls to talk to Mark, Joanne calls in some favors and finds the address of Beth-Ann and Kay. She and Maureen take a cab to the bookstore and march in.

"Hi, can I help you?"

"Are you Beth-Ann Silver?"

"Maybe. Whose asking?" Beth-Ann is a dealer as well as doer of LSD so she is always suspicious.

"Look, my name's Joanne Jefferson, and this is Maureen Johnson, my girlfriend. Our friend Mark Cohen has been living with you for six months and we just wanted to check on him. I don't know how much he told you but he really went through a hard time a few months ago."

Before Beth-Ann can react, she hears the thrashing upstairs and the screaming. "Oh shit" She whispers. She dashes out of the store and to the apartment. Joanne and Maureen are right on her heels.

They find Mark fighting off invisible to them but oh so visible to him demons.

"Fuck. I told that fucker not to do that by himself." Beth-Ann goes to Mark and takes him her strong arms.

"Do what?" Maureen has a sneaking suspicion what is going on but she plays dumb.

"Acid. He's in the middle of an apparently horrifying trip."

Joanne's eyes go wide and she acts on impulse. She pushes Beth-Ann out of the way and takes the filmmaker in her arms. Maureen takes the other side.

"Shh...Mark. Come back down. It's just Joanne. And Maureen. Nothing is gonna hurt you."

Mark whimpers incoherently and allows himself to be cuddled and cared for. Maureen and Joanne will fight the creatures for him.

They sit like that for hours. Mark eventually comes back to reality. He begins to sob and tremble as what just happened hits home.

"Come on, Mark. Jo and I are gonna take you home and get you better. But without this stuff." Maureen whispers.

Mark just nods. Joanne calls a cab and the two girls get Mark's stuff. They pile in the cab and Mark lays his head across Maureen's lap.

When they arrive at Joanne's apartment, Mark is too exhausted to say anything. He just lays on the couch, and sinks into a dreamless sleep, feeling that this is where he belonged the whole time.

XXX

A/N: Now we begin the upward slope. I'll update as quickly as I can.


	5. Clouds before the sunshine

A/N: And we begin the healing process. The climb upward. This chapter is still a little dark but like clouds in the morning sky, the sunshine is coming after this.

Don't own.

XXX

It takes Mark two weeks before he even speaks at all. Joanne takes time off of work and she and Maureen take care of Mark. He wants to tell them he's not a little kid whose dog just died or parents just divorced. He's a grown man who has witnessed the death of five people incredibly close to him in as many years. He ran away from it all and tried to escape in alcohol and acid. He had a horrible trip and now it feels like his mind is blank. He wants to scream all this at Joanne as she treats him to dinner at Union Square Cafe. At Maureen who insists on trying to get him to open up about his time in Brooklyn. But he can't. He tries but he can't. He's too afraid of what will come out. That whatever he tells them will be so horrible, make him look so horrible, that they too will leave him.

That all changes one night when the residual LSD in his system causes a horrifying flashback. In a rare moment where he's almost back to normal, he's walking along with Maureen on the way back from the Life Cafe.

(this is the one place connected to the 'old days' Mark can still function- mostly because it's filled with memories of celebration and table dancing over memories of death and dying)

Maureen is chattering on and on about nothing in particular, and instead of just stepping off the curb, she jumps. Mark is in a surprisingly good mood and follows suit. The sudden landing on his feet jostles something in his system and he suddenly sees..._them _again. The creatures that haunted him that night. He screams and Maureen is there. As self-absorbed and ditzy as she can sometimes come across, she is very caring and has read about acid trips as much as she can since Mark has arrived home.

"Shh...Mark...it's okay. They're not real. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let you jump off the curb. I forgot...please...Mark..." Maureen doesn't care that the inhabitants of the East Village are staring at them. She just cares about getting Mark back.

"How can you not see these things? They're flying at me!" Mark is more panicked than he was in Brooklyn. Mostly because flashbacks mean he's not as better as he might like to think.

"Mark...it's a flashback...come back. You're a block away from your old loft. Whatever it is that's coming at you, it's not real. It's not anything."

"Not real...not real...not real." Mark chants, a mantra. "Not real...not fucking real...nothing is real..."

His voice breaks, and suddenly the two of them are sitting on the curb, Mark sobbing and Maureen holding him.

"That's not true. _They_ aren't real but plenty _is_ real. What's real is that Joanne and I love you so very much. We just want you better. Come on." Maureen keeps whispering comforting things over and over. She's so shocked at hearing Mark speak and just wants to keep him from turning inward again. They walk carefully back to Joanne's apartment, where the lawyer is waiting for them. She almost starts to interrogate them , but she sees something written on Maureen's face that stops her.

She pulls the diva aside and they conference briefly. Mark sits on the couch, knees drawn in tight. He gets a sudden urge to look at himself and walks to the bathroom.

He almost immediately wishes he hadn't. Once bright brown eyes are dull and sunken. Where a shy smile used to come easily to his face, all that shows up is a wry smirk. The stress he has gone through has made him look much older than his 27 years.

He goes back to the kitchen and makes himself a sandwich. As he spreads peanut butter on bread, he begins to speak. It isn't a conscious decision, and isn't triggered by anything in particular. He just is ready.

"They are our friends...the things I saw today and what I saw that day in Brooklyn. They aren't _really_ anything – nothing I can identify anyway- but its obvious to me, now, that they are supposed to be our fallen friends. One is April, she has bright red hair. She dissolved to a pool of blood. There is one carrying that pickle tub- that's supposed to be Angel. She just burst into flames that day. Those flames started to devour me. That's probably when I started screaming. There was one that wore a beanie, and it was Collins. He burst into flames but then kept burning for a while. Roger was there- what ever it was had his eyes and he tried to strangle me while I was screaming. He like turned into a puff of music notes. And there was one that was part cat- Mimi. She tripped me up and I fell under the floor- it was like plasma. Then Beth-Ann grabbed me, and that made it worse. Then you two took over and it was like you pulled me out. I don't remember much else."

"Mark...tell me something. I...you _know_ what drugs do to people. You helped Roger through heroine withdrawal. Why turn to acid as escape?" Joanne asks. She's not condemning him, she's honestly curious.

"I...wanted to make reality disappear. Or change. I won't lie...my first trip was fantastic. I don't remember much but there was something about penguins coming from the walls. The next two were pretty damn nice too. I wasn't...I'm still not..._right. _I'm really...I'm fucked up. Somewhere between Collins and Roger dying, it really..." This is the first time Mark admits to anyone that he is more affected by his friends dying...especially holding Roger's hand while he died...then he wants to let on. Hell, if he is really honest with himself, he has been loosing his grip since finding April in the tub.

Five years of weight come crashing down on him and he sits down on the floor, against the cool of the refrigerator. He begins to cry. For April, for Angel, for Mimi, for Collins, for Roger and for himself. Mostly, for once, for himself.

XXX

Okay, this chapter is really short but I've decided to _really _expand this. I realized I just couldn't jump from the last chapter to all happy sunshine. It took 4 steps to bring Mark to Rock Bottom , it'll take at least 4 to bring him up again. I will have 6 up as soon as I can I just HAVE to spend sometime on my school work. * huggles Mark * There, there, _now_ you can heal. * huggles readers * There there, now it gets better. Thank you for reading so far. And to all I've made cry in previous chapters, * hands big box of tissues all around *


	6. Help me get my feet back on the ground'

A/N: Why can't I attack original work with such gusto? NOW we _really_ get into healing Mark. This will take a while- I have to undo a LOT of damage. First things first- get the filmmaker back to making films. And maybe a little counseling from various sources.

Anyways- don't own.

XXXXXX

The morning after Mark's flashback, he gets up at something like the crack of dawn. He fixes himself tea and pulls out his camera. He hasn't touched this, really, since Roger died. He's carried it around

but not filmed a damn thing. He just hasn't had the motivation. And in truth, he kind of blames it for the mess he's in. If he hadn't detached so much behind the damn thing, felt what he was supposed to feel, maybe he wouldn't have been so overpowered with the grief that hit him after Roger. He's tempted to hurl the thing across the room but as is habit recently, he does just the opposite. He leaves a note on the table explaining that he's going filming and goes outside.

The early spring air feels good. And, Mark is only a little surprised to find that the camera feels like a long lost lover in his hands. And, more surprisingly, he's actually missed filming. Maybe his camera isn't to blame. This thought, while it should be disturbing, isn't . He begins to go around the East Village, filming anything and everything. And the most surprising thing is, he doesn't feel haunted today. There is a vague feeling of melancholy as he walks by the old loft, but nothing too bad. He almost walks up to it, but stops. Too much too fast. Just being able to look at it is a step enough.

"Nice seeing you back in this end of town." A voice startles him. It's Benny, who is standing in front of the loft. He got put back in charge of the Grey Communication East Village project after Mimi died and it's obvious he's got plans for the building.

"Yeah. It's good to be back. " Mark calls as Benny crosses the street.

The two men share a friendly embrace and Benny offers to buy them something to eat. Mark gladly accepts.

As they wait for their breakfast- pancakes for Mark, bacon, eggs and toast for Benny- Benny turns serious for a moment.

"You really fucking scared us when you left for Brooklyn out of nowhere."

"I know. I'm...sorry doesn't even begin to describe it. I just...freaked. I _had_ to get out of here."

Benny just nods. Finally, he whispers, half to himself, "We lost them too."

" I know. I know." Mark really doesn't think he can handle that guilt trip right at that instant.

"Look, I'm just saying you're not alone. Joanne, Maureen and I miss them too. Well, I never knew Angel except that brief meeting in the loft. I knew _about _ her, though, from Mimi and from what I heard, she was fantastic, and the world is a lesser place for losing her. Hell, the world is a lesser place with out any of them punks." There is a quick smile on Benny's face. " But, my point is, you always have someone to talk to. Have had."

"It's....It's not that simple, Benny. It's really not. I can't put my finger on what exactly happened but it was, and maybe still is, more than just simple grief."

Benny considers this for a minute, while the waitress brings their food. Mark only picks at his food, waiting for his host to speak. Benny chews on his bacon thoughtfully, trying to figure out how to best phrase what he wants to say.

"Maybe, if its more than grief, you need more help getting through it than most people. Like...professional help?"

Mark's eyes go wide. _He_ knows he's crazy, or at the very least in need of professional help, but to have it suggested still is a little painful.

"Just...consider it." Benny says. "I...look, I was shitty friend at times, but I do have your best interest at heart. I want to see you well. And that shit you pulled in Brooklyn...Joanne told me- don't be mad at her, she was freaked out by what happened, finding you like that and called me...but anyway, that shit you pulled in Brooklyn is not a sign of being well."

Mark just nods. Benny sees this as a chance to continue and does so. "And look, if money is an issue...I'll pay."

Mark knows Benny is being kind but it still stings. "I'm fine." It's much more biting than he intends.

"I wasn't trying to be a dick, really." Benny is actually hurt by the tone of Mark's voice.

Mark takes a deep breath. "I know. That came out wrong. Look...thanks for breakfast. I gotta get back to Maureen and Joanne's."

He stands up and walks back out into the sunshine. Instead of heading to the apartment, he heads toward the building where Life Support is. It's still too early for a meeting to be going on, but he knows – or at least is 85% sure that – Paul will be there. And he is.

The older man greets the filmmaker like he's a soldier coming home from war.

"Mark. I'm so very glad you came back. How are you feeling?" Paul leads them back to the office. It's small and crowded with papers and research but Paul's welcoming smile makes it a little less daunting.

"I'm...I don't know. There aren't words really. Look, I know you are busy. And underpaid. But, I was wondering, if, I could...somehow, work out some kind of private session. The group meetings...they didn't work obviously."

"Obviously?" Paul is the one person it seems who hasn't heard of Mark's ordeal in Brooklyn.

"I..did somethings I'm not proud of. I don't have time to talk about them today, Joanne is probably panicking right now even though I left a note...Christ, I feel like I'm 17 again instead of 27. I really fucked some shit up in Brooklyn. But, I need help." Just admitting it aloud for himself feels better than he thought it would.

"I see." Paul nods. "Look...Mark, truth be told, I don't have a lot of experience in survivor issues. Life Support members rarely have them. Even though it's going down now, there is still a stigma over HIV/AIDS that it's for gay men, hookers, and drug addicts. And those are the type of people that, even though it's wrong, families typically abandon. We become the family for most of the members here. So, that's why the group meetings probably _don't_ work for you. The members here...they loose someone, it's tough. It hurts deeply. But for many every funeral they attend is a little bit self-driven. See what awaits them. For some it's ' if Ali died after her T-Cells dropped to this point, and mine are here...then how much longer do_ I_ have?' kinda thing. So...I personally don't think I _can_ help. But I can find you someone." Paul begins digging through his files as he speaks.

"Thank you." Mark is relieved. The way Paul started of with 'Look...Mark' it seemed like Paul wouldn't be able to be _any_ help.

"Ah Ha! And I found the right someone. Dr. Astrid Sutcliffe. Nice older German lady. She works for the same company I do, so money will be no issue. She works more with survivors and especially with those who have actually witnessed the passing over of someone. She does some group but it's 90% individual. You may find that a group is helpful, if it's the right group." Paul hands the filmmaker a card and 50 cents for a pay phone, just in case Mark doesn't want to schedule his first appointment in front of Maureen and Joanne.

They shake hands and as Mark stands up to go, Paul offers his reassurance. " You'll be fine Mark, I promise."

And, even though seven months ago, Mark took everything Paul said as useless lies, he believes the counselor now, as he goes and dials the number on the card and makes his appointment.

He turns the camera to himself. "Close on Mark. A man finally starting to break through the clouds. A man finally starting to heal."

XXXXXX

And that's were I leave it for now. And mucho cookies to anyone who gets who Dr. Astrid Sutcliffe is named for. There are either 2 or 4 more chapters. I'm really pushing myself past my normal limit here. Now, if only I could do that for my original works.


	7. Good Day Sunshine

A/N: Lucky number 7. A brief little snippet of Mark coming to some conclusions and more importantly closure. I was on the fence about 8 or 10 chapters but I think 8 is all this little gem can handle before it becomes redundant. And, to be honest, before it overpowers me and I end up abandoning it. So, it's this chapter and then an epilogue and that's it.

Oh, and I don't go with the '89-90 time period the movie suggest, I figure maybe RENT (the stage version) is set at least '92-'93 somewhere in there. So, that's were I work from as for what year this takes place- it would be '98 ish. So, therefore, Roger was born in 1970 if him and Mark are the same age. My math is pure crap though, so just roll with the punches.

I own Dr. Sutcliffe but nothing else.

XXX

" I never went to his funeral." Mark says out of the blue at one of his sessions with Dr. Sutcliffe. It's about a year since Roger died; the anniversary is approaching fast and this thought dawns on Mark out of the blue.

"Whose? Roger's?"They'd been talking about the up coming day but had moved away briefly.

"Yeah. I couldn't make myself. I made it April's, to Angel's, to Mimi's and to Collin's . But not the one man who I considered my brother in all but blood. I couldn't make his. I think I sat in the old loft the whole time. I...don't remember much between Roger dying and about a week afterwards when I first started living at Maureen and Joanne's. It's like he was there one week, then there is a week of blank, and the next thing I know, I'm living with my ex-girlfriend and the female lawyer she left me for, and AIDS has destroyed the world I worked so hard to build up. And then from there, I started to really loose it."

"That happens to a lot of people when they go through some sort of trauma- they blank part of their memories out. In a few years, it's likely you won't remember much of the past year." The good doctor dashes something down on a note pad. This used to make Mark uncomfortable but now he hardly notices it.

"That's just it...I don't _wanna_ forget this year. I feel like it will ultimately make me better. Or something new-agey like that."

"Trials and tribulations _do_ build character. But, you can't stop your mind from trying to protect you. But, weren't you telling me you film?"

"Yeah. Well, not as much any more but occasionally, yeah."

"Then make a film about all this. I know from experience that what your went through, and still go through, is common. Maybe you took escape to an extreme but you aren't the only one. Maybe if you made a film about this experience, you'd help yourself and others along the way."

Mark considers this for a while, as he and Dr. Sutcliffe sit in silence. "Where do I start?" He murmurs, and doesn't realize he's spoken until she answers.

"Just start. You can always edit it later."

Mark nods. The hour is almost up. He makes an appointment for the next month, which is already a sign he's healing. When he first started, he came once a week, sometimes twice.

XXX

The day of the anniversary, Mark wakes up incredibly early. He realizes, as he stretches out aching muscles, that sleeping on a couch is no place for a 28 year old. He has to find a job- or sell a film or something- and get a place soon. The loft, he's realized, if it is still available, just holds too many memories. Not that he wants to forget that chapter in his life- it lasted for nearly ten years for crying out loud. But shelve it away in his memories and start to form a life as Mark Cohen- dude in his late 20s with some past baggage that _doesn't_ weigh him down and is a fully functioning human being.

So, he realizes he needs personal closure. And the film Dr. Sutcliffe suggested will be one step. But he realizes there is one more thing he needs to do. Taking a deep breath, he grabs his camera and heads out. He's gotten past the point of leaving notes- he's built up enough of a trust with Maureen and Joanne that he won't go running off to random parts of New York unannounced again.

He wanders to the cemetery. Toward the very back, he finds his friends. He briefly touches April's grave- even in death she scares him a little. Then Angel's – he lingers there for a minute. Then Collins' and Mimi. Finally Roger.

He stares at the headstone. This is honestly the first time he's seen it.

**Roger Davis**

**1970-1997**

**Found his song and his glory**

Mark nods in approval. Maureen and Joanne and Benny did fine coming up with what to say.

He winds up the camera, and murmuring an apology, turns the granite slab across from him into a makeshift tripod. The filming will be a little sideways but he can edit that so much easier now. Computers have advanced so much from when Collins pulled his little MIT stunt. Joanne has agreed to let him use hers to edit his new film. She thinks it's a great idea.

Sitting down, he talks like the headstone is just a shut door between the two men.

"Hey, man. I hope you don't mind, but I'm filming this little meeting. I've kinda got a plan for a film, based on my twisted mind. You were probably really pissed at me for not going to your funeral...maybe not though. You weren't too keen on them either. But if you are pissed at me, I bet it's because of that shit I pulled in Brooklyn. I can almost hear you now- 'Mark, you fucker. You saw what drugs did to me, why would you do them now?' and there would probably be a punch to accompany that statement. Or five. I would have deserved that. Maybe that's why you were the one strangling me during my bad trip. I..I'm sorry. I did the exact thing I was so pissed at you for. I ran. I probably would have kept running too if I hadn't fallen so flat on my face there." Mark picks up the camera and winds it again, and replaces it. "So...I'm still staying at Joanne's place. And yeah, it's weird still. But, I'm 28 now. So, it's time for me to grow up. And part of that involves being honest with myself and others. Even if that other person isn't still alive. I ...miss you. I detached all those years because I was afraid _to_ miss you. But, you've been my best friend since we were 10. I miss Collins and Mimi and Angel and even April like hell but you going...man that did me in. And, truth be told, it's probably always going to hurt. God-Dammit, I miss you." Mark lays his head against the stone. He expects to cry but he doesn't. He expects to be angry but he isn't. There just is an overwhelming since of peace. And he hears, almost as if the songwriter is standing next to him, Roger's words on the day of Mimi's funeral … "tears won't bring her back." And tears and empty grieving and self distruction really _wouldn't_ do Mark any good. It dawns on him that while the pain will always be there, and he will always miss Roger- his partner in crime, his polar opposite, his best friend and brother- and the rest of his friends too, he will be fine with out them. He is _allowed _to move on. And he will, starting that very day.

As he sits on his knees, looking across the row of graves, he feels suddenly lighter. Like a burden has been lifted. He smiles a little and turns off the camera. He says his good byes and walks out of the cemetery, smiling, _truly_ smiling, for the first time in years.

XXX

Alright. That's that. Sort of. There is an epilogue coming ( I like even numbers too much to end at 7 chapters) But, I told you I would pull Mark up and over. And I have.


	8. EPILOGUE: NOT ALONE

Epilouge time.

A/N: For all those that have journeyed with Mark this far, I thank you so much.

Oh, and let it be known, there is a difference between being single and being alone.

And just let it be known- I don't hate Benny- I just hate writing him. So, it's up to you where he is or if it matters.

And yes, I am aware that rarely do weddings occur on Tuesdays but I'm committed to Mark's birthday being March 21st for no real reason except it feels right so again, please roll with my stubbornness. And I didn't know 3/21/2000 was a Tuesday until just a little bit ago. My memory is crap. Hell, I'm not 100% sure what day 3/21 was THIS year. It was a weekend, that's all I know...A saturday I think.

Don't own except one OC.

XXX

March 21st 2000

The sun shining through the windows wakes Mark up on his 30th Birthday. As does his cell phone ringing.

"Mother." He murmurs. It's time like this he misses the old loft and answering machine. He picks it up and looks. The display reads 518-474-4403. He doesn't recognize it, except that it's from the Albany area. So it goes to voice mail. It can't be good. Anything from the state capital can't be good news.

He drags himself to the bathroom and showers. In the time it takes him to shower, he misses two other phones calls- one from his mother, another from Maureen and Joanne.

He gives in and listens to the voice mails.

"This call is for Mark Cohen. Hello,this is the commissioner of the New York State Office of Mental Health. We've seen your film, "Learning to Live Again: A Survivors Tale" and would like copies of it. We are prepared to pay you for the right to distribute it in Mental Health clinics across the state. Please call me back at 518-474-4403 at your earliest convenience "

Mark nearly drops the phone as he listens to his mother's birthday message. Normal stuff- a slightly guilt trip-y plea to call. Maureen and Joanne's message is inviting him to dinner at the Life. He decides, rightly, that his mother and his friends can wait, the Office of Mental Health can not.

He glances at the clock. He has to be work by 10 to film a wedding at St. Patrick's Cathedral. It's only 9 o'clock , and the call won't take long. He's got plenty of time. Now

Taking a deep breath, he dials the number. He tells the way too perky receptionist who he is, and for the first time in...his life thus far really, he's told 'Just one moment sir' and it's not condescending.

He briefly makes arrangements to meet the Commissioner and go over details. He'll bring Joanne along, she's good at negotiating things.

He finishes getting ready for work and by the time he's out the door, it really hits him. He just sold a film to a legit source, and he's on his way to a job that he loves- filming celebrations. Who would have thought 30 would be so good? He stops to put a five-spot in the open case of the guitar player on the corner- and stops dead in his tracks as he meets the other mans eyes- stunning turquoise.

"You okay man?" The guitarist stops playing and waves a hand in front of Mark's face.

"Hmm..yeah, sorry. You remind me of a friend of mine."

"Yeah...kay. Thanks for the five."

Mark just shakes his head and goes on to work. He has a wedding and a bat-mitzvah to film today. He can't afford to be distracted today. These people pay him good money to record their happy memories, he can't afford to miss a shot just cause some dude on the corner has Roger's eyes.

As Mark stands in the back filming, he notices for the first time that the pastor is black. Not surprising, the couple is inter-racial, but what is surprising is how much the pastor sounds, and looks, like Collins. He's even got a smile very similar to Thomas B Collins. Mark shakes his head. Just a weird coincidence, nothing more.

He makes it through the service and reception without anymore random reminders of his friends.

He takes a coffee break and is no longer surprised that the barista is a Latina with big brown eyes and a half seductive smile. He takes his coffee, smiles back, and heads out to his next assignment.

Apparently fate is fucking with him today, and Mark has learned to just role with its punches.

So, when the route to the Bat-Mitzvah takes him past a nightclub were drag shows are held normally, and he catches a quick wave from a Latino performer, Mark just waves back.

And when the best friend of the guest of honor is named May, and has flaming red hair, he just helps himself to an offered glass of champagne- he hates the stuff normally but today is starting to feel bizarre.

Finally finished with his day , Mark calls Joanne and Maureen on his way back to his little one bedroom apartment.

They make plans to meet at the Life for drinks and dinner around 8 that night. That leaves Mark enough time to stop by the cemetery. As he walks through the East Village, he notices how much it's changed since the day Angel and Mimi wandered into his life. Tent cities are gone, it's...cleaner. He hasn't been in the mental state to really notice before . And now that he notices, it makes him both sad and happy. Happy because who doesn't like a cleaner neighborhood, but sad because it's proof that he really can't go back to the way things were before.

The visit to his friends isn't long but it is enough for him to be sure the seemingly random strangers were sent there from where ever his friends now resided. Just some cosmic way of wishing him a happy birthday, he guesses.

After a quick shower, he dresses and wanders back to the Life. Maureen jumps up from the table and embraces him like she doesn't see him practically every other week.

"Happy Thirtieth Mark!!" She exclaims. He hugs her back.

"Thank you Maureen." He smiles and heads back to the table were Joanne is watching a pretty little five year old color on a napkin. She looks up just as Mark starts to sit down and dashes out of here chair, much to the dismay of the lawyer.

"Uncle Mark!" She is all smiles and her long dark curls tumble down her back princess style. "Happy Birfday" She's lost her front teeth and 'th' sounds are hard for her.

"Thank you Rainy" Mark ruffles the little girls hair.

"Rainy, let Uncle Mark sit down. He stands up all day at his job." Joanne gently chides and the little girl runs back to her seat. "Happy Birthday Mark." Joanne continues.

Mark nods a quick thanks as the waitress comes by and asks for drink orders. He orders a beer as does Maureen Joanne gets a glass of red wine, and Rainy gets chocolate milk.

While they decide what to have, Mark speaks up.

"I got an interesting call this morning." He says quietly.

He waits for the other three (well two- Rainy won't understand exactly) to look up before continuing.

"From the New York State Office of Mental Health...from the commissioner...they wanna buy 'Learning to Live Again' and distribute it. I have a meeting Monday."

"That's fantastic Mark!" Joanne squeals as Maureen claps her hands in glee. "Do you need a lawyer?"

"Do you mind? I don't wanna sell myself short."

"Not a problem. God, though, this will be awesome. It'll lead to something big, I just know it." Joanne predicts

Mark just beams. It seems like empty praise but Mark can't help but think the lawyer might be on to something. But for now, he'll just enjoy the cards he's been dealt. He looks across the table at Maureen- once a girl who broke his heart on a regular basis, now a caring friend who helped him out when he needed it most- at Joanne- once his enemy, now a friend who always has his best interest at heart- and even little Rainy- as far as he's concerned, she's his niece and someone who brightens up his life every time she's in the room. He has his community and he's not alone. He's not alone.

XXX

A/N: And, I am DONE. This piece wasn't supposed to go this far- it was supposed to be the first chapter as a one shot. Then somehow it became this mammoth thing. I get alerts for this almost weekly right now. So, my thanks again to all that have journeyed with Mark this far. I've really enjoyed writing this- I've pushed boundaries of my own, done more research than I have for any school paper. So, seriously, I thank you all who've read this and at least put it on alert. And those that have reviewed those reviews are what pushed this on. I've been trying to write a piece I really can be proud of, and I think this is it. And it really is because of you that read this. Thank you again, all of you.

^_^


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